Keeping the Sun
by Locrian-Mode
Summary: The Santa Clause: Santa learns about the shadowy history of the elves, Bernard, and the Christmas tradition. Meanwhile, an entity Bernard thought was gone has resurfaced and is throwing monkey wrenches into the works. Big, deadly ones.
1. Unfortunate Events

**A/N: **Santa learns about the history of the elves, Bernard, and the Christmas tradition. Meanwhile, an entity Bernard thought was gone has resurfaced and is throwing monkey wrenches in the works. Big dangerous ones.

The Santa Clause (1994) is classic. Bernard was graced with an accent, a charming slouch, and The Attitude, all three of which were lost in the second movie, which is why the only components of this story that are taken from the second movie are some characters: Carol/Mrs Claus and Lucy are here, and Chet, and Charlie is as he would be in 2002 (when this takes place). If you're a visual person, I'm going with the 1994-style elf-clothing, workshop, and Bernard.

Finalmente, I'll be switching 3rd person perspective between Scott and Bernard. I might add someone else in there later on.

I'm painfully aware that I don't own The Santa Claus. I console myself with knowing that I _do_ own a shiny green bicycle helmet.

**_oOo_**

**Keeping the Sun**

Ch. 1 – Unfortunate Events

**_oOo_**

Bernard was sure he was going insane. He felt like this every December and was never prepared for it. He took a moment to lean against the railings and stare down at the reindeers' stalls, quickly noticing that Blitzen appeared to be putting up a grand fuss over the possibility of letting Chet take his place for practice this season.

"Aw, kullbers," he muttered.

"What's wrong, Bernard?" asked a familiar voice at his side.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Just your regular pre-Christmas crunchtime. Plus a few minor complications." Judy smiled sympathetically at the head elf and Bernard had to take a moment to admire her levelheadedness. He'd been doing this same job for hundreds of years, and each December still found him strung up like a catgut racket. Of course, Judy didn't know that the entire stash of felt had mysteriously disappeared, or that the ice dome had leaked all over the south side of Elfsburg. Distressingly, though, he had to put the issues of the workshop first. And there were many workshop issues.

"When does Santa get back?" Judy asked.

"Two days." Santa was on his bi-weekly vacation, spending a few days with Charlie and the rest of his relatives. Escaping the hectic North Pole for a while and relaxing. Bernard envied him. He also loathed the man for dumping his leaderly workload onto his head-elf's shoulders while he was gone. Bernard fervently wished it would be many, many years before a new Santa had to be initiated. Each time that happened, Bernard had to basically be Santa as well as head-elf while the new Santa took their time questioning their sanity and wondering if it had all been a dream.

Another elf approached at eye-level, and Bernard knew who it was before the English accent hit his ears.

"Bernard, there you are."

"Quentin, what's up?"

"There's been a slight problem with how input is lining up with output in the electronics department."

"What do you mean, you think someone is smuggling circuit boards to sell on eBay?"

"No, I think somebody put down the wrong input. I need the file from last Tuesday."

"Last Tuesday. When do you need it by?"

"Asap."

"Right. I'll have it sent down."

"Thank you."

Bernard started for the hall of records, cursing all the stupid red tape and paperwork that modern Christmas involved. Cursing the fact that he had to deal with the majority of it, meaning he was almost the only one who knew his way around the hall of records.

He slipped through the wooden door and was greeted with blessed silence. Left, left, right – sadly, he had the whole place mapped out in his head – and he was in the electronics isle, running his fingers down the spines of folders.

"1950… 1967, 1999… 2002. Jan, feb, blah blah blah… December… Here." He pulled out the file and started to make his way out of the maze, squinting at the tiny numbers scrawled across the parchment, already a bit smudged.

Something pulled, stopping his footsteps. It was yanking at his guts most unpleasantly, and he felt his dourest irritated scowl start to creep across his face as he set the folder down on the floor. Sighing, Bernard felt himself dissolve, and heard the rush of space past the particles of his ears. _Nothing _would get done at this rate, but then again, he could hardly do anything about it.

He was now in Scott's house, which he'd expected. He'd have to find out why, get it taken care of, and leave quickly. Hopefully it wasn't anything too urgent, he couldn't afford to be away from the North Pole for very long.

Lucy was wailing, the smoke alarm was going off. Typical.

**_oOo_**

Scott tried to hush Lucy, who'd just returned home from school sobbing inconsolably. So far he'd learned that her classmates had teased her about believing in Santa Claus, and her throat was sore. Obviously her throat was sore because she'd been crying so much, but he wasn't about to tell her that, mainly because he couldn't hear himself think over the sound of the smoke alarm. He was sure he was the only person in the history of anything to be able to burn Minute Rice.

"Come on, honey, let's go stir the rice," he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, and hauled her into his arms. He flipped on all the fans he could reach on the way into the kitchen, but just as he was about to enter the smoky kitchen, the doorbell rang.

"Oh come on," he said, depositing Lucy into an armchair. He lunged for the door and threw it open, surprised to see a complete stranger standing before him. It was a young woman of rather unremarkable features, and his Santa abilities told him her name was Ilex, but that was it. She didn't look like someone selling vacuum cleaners, so he paused to see what she wanted.

"Hey," she started, brushing a straw-like tuft of hair behind her ear. "I'm your new neighbor, I moved in last week. I haven't seen you in here before but my husband heard the alarm and sent me over to see if everything's ok? My name's Ilex Bornson."

"_Eye_lex? Is that right? Nice to meet you, I'm Scott Calvin." He shook her offered hand quickly, before backing into the hallway. "Everything's fine here, just some burning rice and a screaming kid…"

The alarm stopped abruptly, and the house was graced with near-quiet, as Lucy was still weeping semi-loudly in the dining room.

"Oh…" he said, staring over his shoulder in wonder. He turned back to Ilex. "But thanks for checking. I'm not home very often, I work, uh, overseas a lot. But next time I've got a chance how about I invite you and your husband over for dinner, we can get to know each other and all that… I promise I won't burn anything." In the background, Lucy abruptly stopped crying, and Scott wondered if some sort of 'quiet fog' was creeping through the house. It was a bit of a scary thought. He opened his mouth to bid Ilex a goodnight when he heard a voice behind him say,

"S-"

He knew it was Bernard before turning around. Even Bernard's 's's seemed to have an accent. The elf coughed.

"Scott," finished Bernard, carefully. Scott turned around to see Bernard approaching, Lucy in his arms.

"Um, uh, Ilex, this is Bernard, he's my, he's my…" Scott looked to Bernard for help, but all he received was a blank stare. "He's Lucy's babysitter. He's… babysitting right now…" Now Lucy was giving Scott a blank stare as well. He gave them both a 'go with it' face. Ilex beamed cluelessly at them. She fidgeted and the charm bracelets on her right wrist jangled cheerily.

"Bernard? Nice to meet you, my name's Ilex." Ilex held out her hand for Bernard to shake, apparently unaware that it took two of his hands to hold a small child.

"Charmed," he replied, and coughed again. "Scott, if you've got everything under control, I really, really have… lots of homework to get done. _Finals_ coming up next week, you know," he said through clenched teeth.

"Oh, finals? That's terrible!" gushed Ilex. "How nice of you to take time out of your busy school life to babysit for little Lucy!"

Bernard nodded meaningfully at Scott. Lucy was apparently finding all of this quite amusing, and had even cracked a small smile. Scott was picking up the message but wanted to point out that he hadn't summoned Bernard, Bernard had come down here out of his own free will. But that discussion would have to wait until Ilex was gone.

"What grade are you in, Bernard?" she asked, causing Scott to share an inward sigh with his head elf.

"Eleventh," Bernard replied automatically. "Will you excuse me, I think the rice is burning again. Nice to meet you, Ilex." Bernard hastily made his escape with Lucy, and Scott once again prepared to usher Ilex out of his doorway.

"You know, Scott, I've got two kids as well, they need a babysitter. If Bernard is ever looking for extra income, point him in my direction, alright?"

"Definitely, definitely. You have a good night, now!"

"Ok, goodnight, Mr. Calvin. Goodnight, Bernard!"

He shut the door and shook his head to clear it of Ilex's ditziness before making his way to the kitchen. Lucy was sitting on the table, watching as Bernard dumped water into the rice pot.

"Woa, woa, what are you doing to the rice?" Scott demanded.

"You didn't add enough water the first time. Babysitter? I can 'definitely' go babysit her kids?" He rounded on Scott, coughed into his hand, then took a defensive hands-on-hips stance.  
"Well I wasn't hearing any other suggestions," Scott said.

"I just came from the North Pole, my mind is like oatmeal! It's chaos up there! Everything's missing, the ceiling is leaking-"

"This is why I go on vacations," said Scott, stepping forward to stir the rice.

"Santa, you don't stir rice, you let it sit." Scott stubbornly kept stirring the rice, paranoid that it would set off the smoke detector again. Behind him, Bernard stood silent for a moment before slumping into the kitchen chair. His hands massaged his temples and he let out a whoosh of breath. Lucy reached over and plucked the hat from his head, placing it on her own. It fell over her eyes.

"Charlie coming home soon?" asked Bernard.

"Nah, he's staying with Laura and Neil tonight. He was over last night and he'll be over tomorrow again." He was very thankful Lucy at least had been able to visit him; lonely vacations can hardly be considered vacations. He wished Carol could have come down with him, but she was happily busy in the kitchens up at the North Pole.

"Uncle Scott, Bernard said that you would put coal in all the stockings of the kids who teased me." Scott decided that the rice was stirred up appropriately and took a seat opposite the elf.

"That's right, Lucy. Just one lump each, though. Coal is a valuable natural resource."

"What's a valuable natural resource?"

"Oh, stuff like wood, water, rocks…"

Bernard snorted. Scott smiled. Lucy fiddled with the pin on the hat.

"Things really that bad up at the North Pole, Bernard?" Scott asked. "You'd rather hang out in a smoky kitchen than be up there?"

"Always, Santa."

"You're not serious."

"You're right," he sighed, taking his head out of his hands and glancing over at Lucy. Scott squinted at the head-elf's face and decided that he looked a bit off.

"Are you ok?" he asked, and Bernard took a moment to realize that Scott was talking to him, not Lucy.

"What?"

"You were coughing, now your eyes look kind of red, are you ok?"

"Oh. Yeah, I'm fine. Just the smoke. Elves aren't good with smoke."

"Ah. Well thanks for saving the rice anyways. I probably would have burned the house down if you hadn't come. Thanks for taking care of Lucy too," he added. Bernard nodded. "How did you know to come, anyways? You always just show up at opportune moments."

"Magic," Bernard replied elusively. Scott gave him an incredulous look. Bernard raised his eyebrows. "I'm not kidding. You involuntarily create a teleport pull whenever you're in a stressful situation."

"But that's like every day."

"Doesn't happen when we're both at the North Pole. You're not supposed to be having stressful situations while you're on vacation, though. Get it straight. Speaking of, I can't afford to be relaxing right now." Bernard pushed himself away from the table and stood up. "Lucy, see you later, alright?" He gave the girl a quick hug, retrieved his hat, limply saluted Santa, and dissipated, leaving a brief shadow of bronze sparks in his wake.

Scott waved absently at a wisp of smoke. Lucy stared at the spot that Bernard had vacated. Scott was still thinking about what Bernard had said, trying to piece something together.

"But why him?" he asked no-one in particular. "He's busy enough already."

"Bernard's the only one that can teleport," Lucy pointed out matter-of-factly. Scott turned to her. He hadn't been expecting an answer.

"What?"

"Have you ever seen another elf teleport? They all have to use ELFS-packs and reindeer to travel."

"You're right, Lucy, of course."

"You're silly, Uncle Scott."

"And you're smelly. Now sit down, time for some burnt offerings."

"What's burnt offerings?"

Scott spent the meal trying to delicately explain what burnt offerings were while he thought about why Bernard was the only one that could teleport. He failed on both accounts; Lucy went to bed thinking that ancient peoples used to leave their burnt KFC out on the doorstep during full moons to keep werewolves at bay, and Scott didn't have the slightest clue as to why most elves couldn't teleport. That night he dreamt of blackened chicken bones disappearing and reappearing throughout his house, which was annoying, because everywhere they appeared and disappeared they left a fine black powder that smelled of smoke.

**_oOo_**

Bernard appeared back in the hall of records and bent to pick up the folder he'd set down before teleporting. He double-timed it down to the electronics department, dropped off the papers, and was immediately hit with a swarm of elves who wondered where all the felt had gone, why the air pumps were only working at half-power, and exactly how many more keys Santa wanted placed on the mini-marimbas, among other things. The next nine hours or so proceeded exactly as he had expected them to; that is, unpredictably and exponentially more chaotic than the last hour had been. The felt was found, on the plus side, but the ceiling was leaking even more. He needed to find Judy.

He spotted her through the windows of the control room and made his way up half a flight of stairs before entering.

"Judy, there you are."

"We've got a problem, Bernard. The south ceiling is leaking."

"I know, that's what I wanted to talk with you about. We need to patch that up asap. Ideas?" He plopped down in a chair across from her, staring at the dangerous yellow blobs on the thermomap of Elfsburg. Judy pointed to the northern edge of their cave.

"I think the easiest thing to do would be to re-route ten percent of the northern surface border to the south ceiling."

"But wouldn't that put everything off-balance once we sink in the spring?" he asked.

"Yes, it would. This is only temporary. Once we're past Christmas we can spend more time figuring out the best way to fix it. We don't have time to find the perfect solution right now."

"True… good idea. Alright," he said, and started to get up.

"Hold on, Wickie," Judy said in amusement. Bernard grimaced at the nickname. "Why don't you just sit for a moment before you go off and do that?" He couldn't quite resist the suggestion, and the room was dark and relaxing. He sank back down in the chair. Judy smiled.

"I sent for you a while ago about this," she said, "but you were gone. Santa call you?"

"Yeah, he was having some domestic problems. You know, kids and cooking and new neighbors and stuff. I wish we could just turn off that connection during December…" Judy gave him a sympathetic look and walked over to stand behind him. She put her small hands on his shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze.

"We'll be fine. Just like every other year." Her words were kind and Bernard tried to take them purely as comfort, but they didn't ring true. First of all, every year was getting more stressful than the last. And things _hadn't_ always been fine. There had been years when things had, in fact, been a complete disaster. Of course, that had been hundreds of years ago, and those events had happened for reasons quite out of his control. Remembering those times made this situation seem almost easy.

Judy leaned over his shoulder and gave him a knowing look.

"You sneak," he said. She'd _known_ her statement would make him put things into perspective.

Something tugged violently at his insides.

"Kullbers…" he grumbled. "It's Santa again." He heard Judy say 'good luck' in a regretful sort of tone before he dissolved. This teleport seemed to take slightly longer than he was used to, but he didn't give it a second thought. He reappeared at Scott's house and found his bearings. Living room, Santa emerging through the hallway in his bathrobe.

**_oOo_**

Scott stopped short, startled by the sight of the head-elf in his living room. "Bernard?"

"Yeah. What's up? The rice giving you crap again?"

Scott glanced behind himself, as a gesture of confusion. He looked back at Bernard. "Nothing's up. What are you doing here?"

"What, you mean everything's fine?"

"Yeah. I mean I guess so."

"You guess so?"

"Yes, I guess so. Look, if you want to relax at my house for a while, just say so. You deserve a break too sometimes." Bernard was giving him a look of utter confusion.

"You're _sure_ everything's fine?"

"Yes I'm sure. I woke up half an hour ago, took a shower, here I am, there you are. No disasters here. Hey, why don't you stay for a while?" Scott walked into the living room, ushering the elf ahead of him into the kitchen. "I insist. Have a drink or something."

"No, I really can't afford to stay, I've got a leaky ceiling waiting to-"

"Dammit, Bernard, I'm you're boss. Just sit down, will you? I want to ask you a question." Scott pushed Bernard into a chair. He almost felt bad for keeping the elf from his duties, but then again, judging from how he looked, Bernard did need a moment of non-chaos. "Tea?"

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself." Scott took a seat opposite Bernard and leaned back in the chair, which creaked dangerously. Bernard crossed his arms grumpily and gave him an expectant look. "So," Scott started, "Why are you the only elf that can teleport?"

Bernard's expression morphed into one of blank helplessness, then exasperation, then resignation. "Fine time for you to ask _that_ question. It's a long story."

"I've got lots of time."

"Unfortunately, I don't. How about a rain check on that one until after Christmas?"

"Bernard?" asked a voice from the dining room. Bernard craned around to see Lucy approaching, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

"Morning," he said, mustering a smile.

"What are you doing here again? Are you moving in with us?" Her tone was hopeful, and Bernard laughed, shaking his head. She gave him a shy smile before continuing into the kitchen, zombie-walking to stand beside Scott's chair.

"Good morning, sunshine," Scott said.

"Uncle Scott, I feel sick."

Scott may have imagined it, but he thought he heard Bernard stop breathing. Lifting his niece onto his lap, he asked, "What do you mean? What's wrong? Your throat hurt?"

"No. My eyes hurt."

"Do they now…" Scott pressed a hand to her forehead. "Sweetie, you feel like you've got a fever. Do you feel cold?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, you've got a fever. Why don't you go lay down?"

"Ok." Lucy trudged back into the dining room and Scott could hear her footsteps going up the stairs. His eyes turned to Bernard, who looked mildly petrified. Scott tried to reassure him.

"There's been a flu going around lately. Nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" Bernard stood, looking incredulous. "I have to go."

"Go? No, sit back down, just take a moment. Maybe you were pulled here to look after Lucy or something."

"Definitely not the case…" he muttered, pacing. "Influenza, she's been contagious for two days already... Dette er SLIK ikke tiden for meg til å få syk. Å herre..."

"Bernard, you're speaking in Norwegian. What's the big deal?" Scott knew from past experience that Bernard speaking in Norwegian meant something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. The elf slumped back down in his chair and clenched his hat in his fists.

"I was holding Lucy yesterday. I've probably got the virus now too."

"Well… you don't know that. You feel fine, right?"

"Right, for now. You know how crappy elves' immune systems are? Ever wonder why we live at the North Pole and not down here with all you humans? The North Pole is sanitary. If I'm infected, and I probably am, and I go back up there now, everyone else is going to get infected, and a North Pole full of infected elves… Kull sperrer inne, kan jeg ikke tro dette er begivenhet," he finished grumpily. "I can't go back now."


	2. Caution: Holiday Cheer

**A/N:** Three days till Solstice! Christmas is creeping up faster than I'd suspected. Anyways, I'm kind of not abiding by a few of the things that you'd think from watching the movie. By 'the movie', I re-remind you that this is pretty much all based on what happens in the first one and the whole 'Toy Santa' thing never happened. Nor did the 'Jack Frost' thing. I never saw that movie. Although it looks kind of entertaining. Maybe someday. Oo, if anybody spots any continuity errors, would they be so awesome as to let me know? I'm so bad at proofing my own stuff.

**_oOo_**

Ch. 2 – Caution: Holiday Cheer

**_oOo_**

Initially, Scott wanted to laugh. He was sure the workshop would continue without Bernard, and he was amused by how devastated Bernard was at the prospect of not working for a few days. Admittedly, the flu generally rendered people miserable, but Scott would rather be sick with the flu at home than be Bernard in December at the North Pole. Bernard was making it quite clear that he'd rather be himself in December at the North Pole than be stuck in New York with the flu.

"But you might not even _get_ the flu," Scott insisted. The elf laughed bitterly. He'd assumed a 'grumpy' position, hunched in the chair, arms crossed and hat askew.

"Seriously, Bernard. Why don't you just go back to the workshop, and if you start feeling sick, come back down here." He was trying out his best 'rational' tone, but he felt himself wishing Neil were here. Neil may be a slimy psychologist – or was it psychiatrist? – but he'd have higher convincing skills than Scott, at least.

"Doesn't work like that. People with the flu are contagious at least a day before they start showing symptoms. I might have already spread it around the North Pole. And just wait, I _will_ get sick. If I didn't catch it from being here yesterday, I have now. Like I already said, elf immune systems are terrible. Back in the 1700's I was in a room for _two seconds _with someone who had inhalation anthrax. You know how contagious inhalation anthrax is?"

"Very?"

"No, it's not contagious at all. And guess who came down with inhalation anthrax the next day and almost died?"

"Why were you in a room with someone who had anthrax if you knew how dangerous it was?"

"Well I didn't know they had anthrax until I saw them."

Scott could tell Bernard wasn't getting any calmer, and he still found the situation humorous. He stood. "Fine, fine, fine. So you're going to get sick. You'll be fine in a few days, then you can go back and start working yourself to death again. In the meantime, drink some tea, will you?"

"Ugh," was the elf's only reply, and he lowered his forehead to the table.

"Cheer up, Bernard. I'm going over to the Miller's house in a little while, you can see Charlie and Laura and Neil." He fished out two mugs and found some tea bags, pouring water into both of them.

"Yeah, great. Spreading some holiday influenza. Merry Christmas."

"Oh come on, they'll be happy to see you." Scott set a mug in front of the elf's face.

"I think you should go and I'll just stay here for the week. Was the water boiling?"

"Yes. And you're coming with me. If you don't spread the bug around, Lucy certainly will. And," he said loudly, as Bernard opened his mouth to protest, "only kids seem to be catching this one. That means it's not a very advanced strain, which means Laura and Neil and I probably won't be contracting a case of holiday cheer from you or Lucy."

"And Charlie?"

"Charlie'll be fine. His immune system is made of iron."

Bernard uttered a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a choke.

"What?" asked Scott. Bernard shook his head..

"I'm gonna call Judy and tell her what's down."

"Sure. I'll go check on Lucy. Maybe she doesn't have the flu after all and you'll be able to get out of a week's vacation. Wouldn't that be fantastic."

"Oh shut up."

Scott filled a glass of water for Lucy as Bernard reached into his mysterious shoulder bag. _Hey,_ he thought to himself as he started up the stairs,_ it could happen_. _Maybe it's not the flu_. He realized this was overly hopeful thinking, though. The virus _had_ been going around in the schools, and he was willing to place his life on the fact that she had some sort of fever, which doubtlessly pointed to a sickness. He fetched a thermometer from the upstairs bathroom closet and entered Lucy's room. She was curled beneath a pile of covers, reading _The Ink Drinker_.

"Hey, how're you feeling?" he asked. She flipped over and shrugged her shoulders, then sat up. He handed her the water. "For the next few days, drink lots of water, alright?" She nodded. "Let's take your temperature, open up." He gave her the thermometer and took a seat on the bed next to her. "So I guess my new neighbors have two kids. Maybe you can get to know them, that would be fun. Too bad they're not _your_ neighbors," he added, regretfully. He didn't like to think of himself as judgmental, but Ilex seemed a bit foreboding in the overbearing-female-neighbor type of way. Good thing he didn't spend much time here anymore.

"If you're feeling up to it, we're going to bring you back to your parent's house in a little bit. Bernard's going to come with us." Lucy gave him a questioning look, but knew better than to try to talk. "Yes," he answered preemptively, "He's busy, but I'm making him take a vacation."

Scott could hear Bernard talking remorsefully downstairs on his radio; Judy's responses were muffled. For a moment Scott wondered just how much Bernard's absence was going to affect the workings of the North Pole, or of the ceiling really was going to collapse because he wasn't there. He decided to try not to worry about it. Bernard knew what he was doing, and if he thought it was too dangerous for him to go back up north, then that was that and he'd have to deal with the consequences himself.

The thermometer beeped, and he took it from Lucy and held it to the light. He squinted at it for a moment; he'd never been good at reading these things.

"Ah. 100.6. Lucy, darling, you have a low-grade fever. Know what that means?"

"What?"

"It means everyone treats you like a princess now. You want anything, you just ask. Also means you get to lay in bed a lot."

"But I want to be with you and Charlie and Bernard."

"You can lay on the couch, then, and watch us all try to put up the Christmas tree." Lucy's eyes lit up with the mention of the Christmas tree. "Alright. I have to go feed Comet, he's been waiting patiently in the backyard since last night for me to get him some carrots." Scott ruffled Lucy's hair, pointed meaningfully at the glass of water, and left. He ambled down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Bernard was sipping tea and looking uncharacteristically still and thoughtful.

"How's Lucy?" he asked.

"Oh, low fever, high spirits. So… how did Judy take the news?"

"She forbade me from returning until five days after the worst of the symptoms wore off. Otherwise she's confident that everything will work out fine, as long as you go back up there as soon as you can." Scott sighed and reached into the refrigerator for the bag of carrots.

"But you don't have any symptoms yet. What if you don't get sick for the next week? You'll be here through Christmas."

"Nah, it'll be over pretty quick. Alright, so we've got dumb immune systems, but they're powerful. Once it realizes I _do _have a virus, defenses will go berserk for a day or so, then I'll be fine. Except I'll still be contagious for four days afterward. And," he said, with a strange air of triumph, "I have a headache."

"So…"

"So I'm sick already. I won't have to wait a week for the lightning bolt to strike."

"You know," said Scott as he headed to the backdoor, "If Neil were here he'd be telling you that you've got this all negatively framed. You should be positively reframing the issue. Words like 'lightning bolt' and 'strike' and 'berserk' aren't going to help you get better any sooner." Bernard had picked up his mug and was following him outside, shutting the back door behind him and followed Scott into the snow. Comet raised his head at their approach.

"Santa, I'm pretty sure saying 'friendly exchanges between antibodies and viruses' isn't going to do any better. _And _it's not accurate."

"Hey, Comet," said Scott cheerily. "I remembered your carrots." Bernard huffed but couldn't keep himself from stroking the soft fur behind the reindeer's ear. It was snowing – the gentle, fluffy stuff that consisted of delicately-patterned individuals that one could spend hours looking at. Snow, thought Scott, was almost like makeshift stars. Falling stars. Comet bit his finger.

"Ow. Comet, watch where you chew, I thought you were an herbivore." Comet chuckled. Bernard smirked. The pin on the elf's hat reflected the backyard light. Scott leaned forward and stared at it, suddenly curious as to what, exactly, it represented. Bernard leaned away for a moment before realizing it was his hat that Scott was staring at. "So… it's a shooting star," Scott proclaimed pensively. Its five golden arms were flailing out behind it as it shot down to Earth. "What's it mean, where'd it come from?"

Bernard's hand absently rose to trace the outline of the metal pin. "Another good question… Another long story behind it, too."

"Now you have time to tell it, don't you? "

"You're going back to the workshop soon, you know. You should probably take off later today. Don't know that you'll have time."

"Oh, come on," Scott ribbed, "You've got time."

"You'd probably do better just looking it all up in the hall of records. Everything you could ever want to know about anything Christmas is in there." Bernard lowered his head and pushed the heel of his hand to his temple for a moment, and Scott decided to drop it. He remained, however, determined to draw it all out of Bernard sooner or later. Comet pulled the last carrot from his hand and Scott gave the reindeer a friendly pat on the head.

"Looks like an early flight back to Elfsburg later today, buddy." Comet nodded. Scott and Bernard headed back inside. Scott figured now would be as good of a time as any to head to the Miller's place, so he trudged upstairs to start gathering Lucy and her things up. She was sleeping when he got to her room, so he gently picked her up and tried to balance her and her small suitcase as he made his way down the stairs. He dropped the suitcase on the second-to-bottom stair, which startled Lucy awake. The suitcase, an old-fashioned clasp one, popped open, and Scott resolved to get her a zipper suitcase for Christmas. He set her down.

"We're leaving already, Uncle Scott?"

"Yes. Turns out I'm needed at the North Pole a little earlier than expected," he sighed, stuffing clothing back into the stubborn suitcase.

"What was that?" Bernard asked, coming down the hallway.

"Oh, I dropped Lucy's suitcase. Hey, could you get a water bottle from the cupboard under the microwave and fill it for her? I want her to be getting plenty of fluids… You make sure you're drinking enough too."

"Don't you dare try to mother me, Santa." Bernard raised his eyebrows threateningly at Scott before starting for the kitchen, Lucy following along.

"Somebody's got to look after you sickos," Scott shouted after them, thoroughly believing that being teased was sure to lighten anyone's spirits. From the kitchen, Scott heard Lucy asking Bernard why they were 'sickos'.

**_oOo_**

"I made you sick?" she asked. Bernard had just tried to explain what was going on to Lucy. He rinsed out the blue water bottle and started filling it with tap water.

"No, some mean viruses made me sick. Like those kids at school that teased you, they make me sick too." His heart wasn't entirely in the conversation, as he was worrying about where he would be staying. He'd pretended to give up the argument earlier, but in actually he was quite set on staying at Scott's house. Or maybe down some dingy alleyway. Much as he liked the Millers, there was something about going to someone's house _to get sick_ and have them take care of him that bugged him. He'd rather just deal with it himself. No need to drag others into the situation.

"So now we give the virus water because it's a valuable natural resource, right?" Lucy asked, taking the bottle full of water that he'd handed her.

"Yeah, viruses don't like water. They also don't like sleep or chicken soup."

"Chicken soup is a valuable natural resource?"

"Better believe it."

"What are you telling my niece, Bernard?" asked Scott, entering the kitchen. Bernard gave the newly-packed mini-suitcase a wary look. "Let's go, you two."

"Actually, Santa…" Bernard paused, wondering how to put this. "I'd really not like to bother the Millers, I mean it could be five days. I'll just… stay here." Scott scrutinized him.

"Alright, I know you're independent and stubborn and a loner and everything but come on. You said it yourself, you're about to crash and burn. You might need help."

"I won't. I'll be fine. I'd prefer to be miserable by myself."

"Well…" Bernard's hope flared for a moment, thinking Santa's store of sharp retorts had run out. To his despair, his boss wouldn't give up that easily. "It's my house," Santa said. "I don't want you staying in it by yourself, you might set it on fire."

"Woa, look who's talking! And I'm an _elf_, I took _care_ of people's houses for two centuries before getting recruited into the holiday business."

"But…" Santa paused, looking thoughtful. "That merits _another_ story, doesn't it… Anyways, the above-all is I'm your boss, you do what I say."

"I'm older than you."

"I sign your checks."

"Elves don't get checks. Oh sweet solstice, just give up already. I'm not leaving."

"Fine! Fine. I'm not happy about it but fine. I'm telling Laura about you, though, and she'll probably move in with you anyways. Or better yet, I'll tell Ilex. I'm sure she'd be happy to keep you company." The elf grimaced, and Scott started to struggle into his jacket. "There's food in the pantry and the-"

"I know where your food is."

"If the power goes out the breaker box is-"

"In the basement. If I recall I'm the one that showed you where it was last year."

"And don't run the electricity bill through the roof, ok?"

"Will do. Talk to Judy about the ceiling, you should be able to fix it yourself. Call me if there are problems."

"Ok. I'll call you anyways just to tease you. See you around. Come on, Lucy, let's take Comet. Save on natural resources." Lucy waved goodbye to Bernard, they left through the back door, and Bernard was left in silence.

He listened.

The background hum of electrical appliances and the occasional car on the street outside were the only noises that came to his sensitive ears. Nothing at all was moving, besides some sluggish air currents pushed around by the ventilation and heat systems. Nothing glittered or sparkled or buzzed or crashed or _leaked_ all over. He smiled. His headache was starting to be more than slightly annoying, so he turned off all the lights and meandered into the living room where the sofa was and lay down.

It felt too weird not to have something to be _doing_. He wasn't sure he was ready for it yet. _I am so bad at vacations_, he thought, then grimaced to himself that this 'vacation' was him staying in his boss's house while he became sick. His mind rebelled from the idea of being still, so it searched for something to worry about, immediately latching on to something.

Why _had_ he come here? What had drawn him here? Magic was a fickle thing to be involved with and he would never say that he understood it all. He had a higher understanding of it than most anybody else he knew of but that still left the majority of the subject swathed in mystery. He was fairly certain that there was a reason behind every occurrence, that magic didn't just dink around randomly like some amateur geologist in the backcountry of Yellowstone. However, he _was _certain that if magic was any kind of benevolent force it would have magically disappeared all the influenza viruses by now. Seeing as though fatigue was starting to set in and a strange cold was creeping down his spine, he could safely assume that 'benevolent' wasn't quite appropriate.

**_oOo_**

**A/N:** "But where's the plot?" you ask.

"Coming up shortly," I try to assure you.

"That's not a very good way to write a story," you chide.

"I know, I know. Sorry. I promise there'll be some serious plottage in either of the next two chapters."

"Ok… but if you don't, I'm throwing wrenches at you."


	3. We're All Mad Here

**_oOo_**

Ch. 3 – We're All Mad Here

**_oOo_**

Once he was back at the workshop, Santa was swept into a torrent of issues that needed to be solved, papers that needed to be signed, mounds of little details that needed to be taken care of, and a plethora of other things that scrambled for his attention. Every left turn someone was asking him where Bernard was and every right turn he seemed to run into a large plastic penguin. He found himself gaining even greater appreciation for all that Bernard managed to accomplish, and all the work that each elf did, especially in this season. It took patience and extreme industriousness to get through environments like this. He resolved to ask Bernard why things were running so rockily for a production that had been going on for… how many years? He didn't know, precisely. Another question. He briefly considered escaping into the hall of records for a few quiet moments of reading about the history of Christmas, but he couldn't pull himself out of the throng.

At least they were still cheerful. Well, maybe not cheerful. But every elf was keeping their head and a positive attitude. Scott had never encountered something like it in all his long years of working with humans.

One of his first tasks once he'd gotten back was to 'patch up the southern ceiling', a job that wasn't quite as simple as a few new shingles, as he'd found out. He'd been given a quick 'magic lesson' by Judy; apparently, himself and Bernard were really the only two who had the ability to try to direct the flow of magic that kept the whole North Pole safe inside the ice cave. Magic kept the ceiling from collapsing. Magic made sure that the ice was solid where it needed to be solid. Magic kept the iceburg smack at the North Pole, despite any arctic sea currents that may push at it. To Scott's mild surprise, global warming was now affecting Elfsburg, an issue that Judy cautioned Santa _not_ to mention around Mother Earth. This was the first year since before the last ice age that the Arctic Ocean had threatened to become ice-less during the summer. No ice at the North Pole? Yes, ridiculous. Also dangerous. The warmer waters had tried to melt the stalwart ice of Elfsburg. Nothing terrible had happened, but they were still feeling the affects now in winter.

Which was a bit strange, as arctic winter temperatures usually aired on the side of frigid.

And so, as far as Scott had been able to gather, it was now his responsibility to redirect ten percent of the magic that was keeping the northern border of their territory in check and put it to work on keeping the south ceiling cold enough so it wouldn't start melting. He'd had some experience with handling magic (it felt more like 'begging' magic), but nothing to this scale. It took him a few tries to get it right, and it took another few tries to understand how he was supposed to know when he'd done it right. The whole affair took a saddening amount of time, but Judy seemed proud of him.

Afterwards, he'd tried telling Judy that maybe he shouldn't be at the North Pole either, since he'd been exposed to the virus too. Judy would have none of it, reminding him that it wasn't a morphed strain and he was already immune to it.

He tried to avoid looking at his watch. It felt like he'd been awake and waging war against the various pre-Christmas workshop issues for hours but he was afraid that if he checked the time it would be more like an hour and a half, and that would have been very discouraging. Nonetheless he still felt a bit like he was going insane, and he self-confirmed his suspicion when he heard a voice in his head.

It wasn't saying anything he could understand, but it was low and kind of scary-sounding, something that he would expect to hear floating out of a sewer grate in a small Kansas town or some such shady-type place. Nobody around him jumped when it spoke, which is how he knew it was only gracing the inside of his head. It said, "Den ensomme" or the like; his language skills had grown since he'd become Santa, but they were far from perfect.

"Hey, hey Larry!" he shouted, running after the little elf. Larry turned.

"Yes, Santa?"

"Do we make straitjackets?"

"No," Larry replied very carefully, "why?"

"I think I may be going mad."

"Oh, you can't help that. We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad. Why don't you go take a cocoa break?" Larry gave him a reassuring smile before leaving Scott to sputter over the prospect of an elf quoting Lewis Carroll. If he remembered correctly, the unfinished end of that quote would have meant that he wouldn't be here if he wasn't mad.

"Thanks, Larry," he shouted after the elf, watching his sanity skitter away down a long, dark, creepy corridor.

**_oOo_**

Bernard had descended into the realm of 'miserable'. Full-blown headache, fatigue, and chills that wracked his body violently enough to keep him from actually going to sleep. He didn't feel nauseous from the virus but he was starting to feel slightly queasy from all the shivering.

He tried to occupy his mind by puzzling over workshop and magic issues. Santa had called once the ceiling had gotten fixed, so he couldn't worry about that. Worrying about why he was here in the first place was pointless. He cast about for other preoccupations. The hectic pace of the workshop, would Santa be able to handle it… now that he'd distanced himself from it, this year did seem to be running a little less smoothly than past years.

The couch pillow pressed against his face suddenly felt unduly textured. He struggled to sit upright, then pushed himself to his feet. It was probably time he drank something again. Or at least moved around to chase away any stiffness. As he took his first step, he realized it was too late; the sickness had already attacked his joints, making his knees twinge and his back ache like he'd spent the day dragging stubborn reindeer around by their antlers, which he'd done once, and had promised himself he'd never do again. He bit his lip and lurched down the hall towards the kitchen.

The doorbell rang.

He stared at it, wishing Scott had a peephole. It wasn't his responsibility to let people into Scott's house, but if it was one of the Millers, he should let them in. _If it was one of the Millers,_ he reasoned, _they'd just let themselves in after a minute anyway. _He continued into the kitchen, taking care not to turn on any lights, and put the pitcher of water back on the stove. No more knocks were forthcoming, and for this he was grateful. He didn't want to be mothered by Laura, as kind as her intentions may be. Maybe Scott had warned them when he'd dropped off Lucy that Bernard wanted to be alone. He could only hope.

The door clicked open and someone entered the house. He sighed. So much for getting a bit of peace. He wasn't in the mood for getting up to see who it was, so he waited to see what they would do. The person shuffled about in the entry way for a few moments, presumably removing boots and a jacket, before strolling down the hallway. They got to the kitchen and paused in the doorway, and Bernard was a little surprised to see Charlie.

"Oh there you are," the teen said, and entered the room, lugging a duffle bag. Bernard waved limply and greeted him. "Mom told me to move in here for a few days to make sure you'd be ok. I've asked her if I could stay in this house by myself before but she always says no."

"You're going to stay here?"

"Yeah, is that ok?"

"I guess." Charlie was the closest any human had come to a 'friend' for Bernard, at least in the last few centuries, and if anyone was going to stay with him, Charlie was his first choice.

"How are you feeling, old man?" Charlie asked, utilizing his much-abused nickname for his favorite elf. Bernard had long since stopped trying to convince him that he was in no way a man, besides the general 'male' aspect.

"I feel sick, you domeless wonderboy," the elf replied with a scowl. Charlie laughed.

"You don't look sick. I think you're faking it to get away from the workshop."

"You go believe that. I'll be dying in the corner."

"Actually, you do look slightly pale…" Charlie started rummaging around in his duffle and soon pulled out a worrisome little plastic tube that rattled angrily when Charlie held it up. "Mom said you should take your temperature." He pushed the thermometer across the table to Bernard, who stared at it incredulously. "And don't drink anything hot beforehand," Charlie cautioned.

"Why would I want to take my temperature? I have a fever, it'll break in a few hours, what else do you need to know?"

"Hey, I'm just the messenger, this is straight from the horse's mouth. She said if you wouldn't do it she'd come over and _make _you do it."

"Yeesh. And I'm sure she'd be charmed to hear you call her a horse." He woefully uncased the glass thermometer, marveled for a moment at the quaint old-fashionedness, and stuck it in his mouth.

"So dad was complaining about how you had all these stories to tell him about Christmas and magic and stuff but neither of you ever had time. Once you're over the most of this will you tell me some of that stuff? I don't have any homework, first term is over." Bernard sighed, feeling as if Charlie's energy was sapping the remainder of his own. He nodded. "Aw, cool. I figure I should know for when I become the next Santa." Bernard glanced up at the boy, who was hardly a boy anymore, and Charlie grinned at him. Bernard knew of Charlie's ambition to stay in the family business but it still felt strange. He'd never _known_ the 'next Santa' before the 'accident or design' actually occurred to switch the identity of the entity. He rested his head in his hands and stared at the table. The water was whistling, but he didn't feel like drinking anything now. Charlie got up and started fussing around with pots and the stove and Bernard had a sneaking suspicion that the teen was going to try to prepare food. He had more faith in Charlie than Charlie's father when it came to food preparation, but the thought of eating encouraged queasiness.

He took the thermometer out of his mouth and gave it a passing glance before closing his eyes again.

"What'd it say?" asked Charlie.

"Promise you won't tell your mother first." Charlie yoinked the glass rod out of his loosened grip before he could react. He swiveled around as Charlie, staring at it, let his mouth drop open.

"106? That's… Isn't that like brain damage level?"

"Yes, but hold on. It works different with elves. That's maybe 104-point-something for me."

"Oh." Charlie drew the thermometer from in front of his face. "But that's still really high…" Bernard nodded, then stood.

"I'm gonna go lie down."

"Wait, I'm making soup. Laura said to make you eat chicken soup."

"Ugh. I'll let you take my temperature and bring me blankets but I refuse to let you make me eat."

"I haven't brought you blankets though."

"Better get on it then. Nice thought, about the soup, though. Maybe later." He trudged into the living room and assumed a horizontal position on the sofa. It was as if his head on the pillow signaled his mind to stop paying attention to anything, and he entered one of those timeless states that one enters while meditating, or right after one is brained with an electric bass. Given the circumstances, the latter seemed more appropriate. At some point he hazily realized there was a fleece blanket or two covering him, and he was dismayed that he still seemed to be feeling colder. He thought he heard the doorbell ring once, and it woke him up just enough to hear Charlie telling Ilex that Scott wasn't home and Bernard wasn't available.

Another time he realized his radio was beeping. He started to sit up, but saw Charlie taking it out of his bag and answering it for him. He lay back down, ready to let Charlie attempt to take care of whatever it was, but something in the way Charlie started answering made Bernard start paying attention.

"Say that again?" The person on the other end mumbled something carefully. "Sounds like… German or something. I don't know, I'm taking Spanish in High School… Dad, he's… you really want me to – ok… ok, hold on." Charlie lowered the radio. "Hey Bernard, Scott's having a panic attack, he wants to talk to you. I think he thinks he's going insane." The elf sighed and sat up, fervently hoping Santa was overreacting over something small. He took the radio.

"Hmm?"

"Hey Bernard, how're you doing?" Scott's tone was rushed. No use beating the bush, his distraction was obvious.

"What's wrong, Santa?"

"Ok, so I'm hearing voices. I know it sounds crazy but it started an hour ago and he keeps saying this stuff and-"

"Slow down, slow down." Bernard tried to find a more comfortable sitting position. "Just… I can't follow you when you're talking that fast."

"Sorry. Ok. So. An hour ago… hold on, I wrote it down… this voice said, 'den ensomme', kind of low and scary. Then fifteen minutes later, it said something that sounded like 'upnanday aven lassa'-"

"In your head? It spoke in your head?"

"Yes, my head, and this time he sounded kind of high and sing-songy. I know it's crazy, but that's what happened. I can't just make up this gibberish, it came from _somewhere_. I asked Judy about it but she said she didn't know Dutch or Icelandic, and to talk to you."

"That wasn't Dutch or Icelandic."

"Well hold on, it gets better. So then a few minutes later it says… and I'm sure I'm butchering this pronunciation… 'verhort ett… um, keth-ja skip… and then 'jalkeela now-roo alusta lapun'… are you getting this?" Bernard certainly was not getting any of this, as his mind was struggling to awaken, but there was something eerily ominous about the words, even if he didn't know what they meant.

"Was that all it said?"

"No, then the voice said 'yer rua chan avi'. That's it. What does it mean?"

"Hold on…" Bernard put the radio down and cast around for a piece of paper and writing utensil. Charlie was quick to provide them. "Ok, Santa, can you repeat all that?" His boss carefully repeated what he'd heard, making it clear that the voice itself had repeated the cryptic message a few times as well, but had stopped once he'd called Bernard. After the elf had recorded it, and assured Scott he'd try to make sense of it, Scott became slightly apologetic for making Bernard think, and he hoped it was worth the trouble to decode it. Bernard, on his part, hoped that the message meant nothing at all besides some malevolent yet harmless imp may be playing a dumb joke on Santa.

"Oh, Bernard," said Scott, before hanging up, "Judy wants to talk to you."

"Alright, bye. Good luck." A moment later, Judy's voice rang across the line.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm alive."

"Really, though, how are you doing? I wish you were up here right now."

"So do I, believe me. I'll be fine in a while. Any elves up there getting sick?"

"No, not that I've heard."

"Oh good. Good… So Scott asked you what that all meant?"

"Yes, but I could only really make something of 'upnanday aven lassa'. It sounds like 'öppnandet av en låsa', Swedish for 'opening of a lock'."

"Yeah, you're right..."

"But none of the rest sounds Swedish to me. I thought 'alusta lapun' sounded kind of Finnish, maybe 'alusta loppuun'… I think that means something like 'across' or 'over' or something. I don't get it."

"Sounds right… Hey Judy, don't you find it a little, ah, odd that Santa was hearing this voice in the first place?"

"You think he's actually mad?" Her voice was incredulous.

"No, no, I think there's probably something behind this, but the complete message will only be understood when we know who was talking, and why. And _how_. Just translating the words, I mean depending on what they say, that's not going to give us the whole picture. Aw, kull, there goes my night…"

"Such as it was," interjected Charlie.

"Sorry, Bernard," said Judy. "What do you think we should do?"

"Well… keep working. Heighten security, keep a sharp eye on magic distribution… watch the chart history for all the processes. Judy, make sure to call me if anything else weird happens, or if he hears anything else besides what he's recorded." He stared at the words written on the piece of paper in front of him, eyebrows furrowed. The more he looked at the words, the more pronounced became the sinking feeling in his gut. "I have a feeling I'll be calling you pretty quick anyways. This… this may be very, very bad."

"Why? What are you thinking?"

"I don't want to jump to any conclusions. I'll know soon enough, I need a few moments with these words."

"Alright…"

"Try not to worry. I'll talk to you soon, Judy. Bye." He shut off the radio and sighed, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Charlie cleared his throat.

"Sooo…"

"I can't believe this."

"Can't believe what, Bernard? What's going on?"

"This is the worst timing _ever_. Sweet solstice, I hope I'm wrong. Can you turn on the light?" Charlie stood to do as Bernard had asked, and Bernard squinted in the sudden bright luminance. The queasy feeling was becoming augmented by a case of the nerves, and he really wanted to just burn the piece of paper, to keep himself from having to try to decipher it. He set it on the coffee table and stared at it, pencil at the ready.

_Den ensomme upnanday aven lassa verhort et keth-ja skip jalkeela now-roo alusta lapun yer rua chan avi._

"So do you recognize any of it?" Charlie asked.

"Den ensomme. It's Norwegian for 'the solitary'…" He started writing a translation for it. "Judy thought the next part was Finnish for 'opening of a lock'. The solitary opening of a lock."

"That's… kind of foreboding."

"Yeah it is." Bernard was amazed that he was suddenly awake enough to do this; he blamed adrenaline, or fright. "Verhort et. Verhort et. Vurhort? Vuerhert… Sounds familiar." He tapped the pencil against the paper as Charlie watched, perplexed. "Aha. Verhuurt het. That's Dutch, I think. Been a while since I've had to use Dutch."

"What's it mean?"

"Hmm. I think… 'het' means it's leading into something… that, maybe… kull, I don't know. It would make more sense in context. What's the next piece… 'keth-ja skip'. That sounds Icelandic. 'Skip' means 'ship'. I'll bet 'keth-ja' is using an eth, that's pretty phonetic, makes it into…" Bernard wrote 'keðja skip' next to that part. The languages he had used to use so long ago were coming back much easier than he feared they would, and it almost, _almost_ lent the situation a hint of fun, despite his being very sick and having terribly negative suspicions about what may be going on.

"And keðja means… shackle or chain, some sort of adjective. Chained. Chained ship? The solitary opening of a lock… verhuurt het…chained ship. _The_ chained ship. 'Verhuurt het' might mean 'rent'… or 'let', 'that let'. Lets. The solitary opening of a lock, that lets the chained ship…"

"Does that mean _anything _to you?" asked Charlie. Bernard expected that it would indeed mean something to him, but he was hesitant to confirm it. He moved on to the next part.

"Jalkeela now-roo alusta lapun. Like Judy said, sounds Finnish. 'Alusta _loppuun'_, she thought it might mean 'across' or 'over'. Jalkeilla means 'up'. Now-roo… now-roo…" The word sounded familiar, but his Finnish was being rusty. He moved on to the next part. " 'Yer rua chan.' Yr rhua chan, I think it means… 'the roar', and then 'chan' can mean a lot of stuff…"

"Which language?"

"Welsh. And the last word, avi. Not Welsh. If it's really spelled with an ash, then it's 'ævi', it's Old Norse, and it means 'time', which means 'chan' should probably translate into 'of'."

He wrote the last part down, then paused. _Now-roo? _He asked himself. It was the last word. It was probably not a conjunction so he could safely assume it was important. If it was Finnish, like the words around it were, the 'ow' was probably spelled 'au', and the 'oo' was more than likely just a 'u'. Nauru.

"Ah, my Finnish is too rusty. Will you hand me the radio?" Charlie gave him the small black device and Bernard called Judy's line. She picked up immediately.

"Bernard?"

"Yeah. This was easier than I thought, but there's one word I couldn't get: n-a-u-r-u. Nauru, does that mean anything to you?"

Judy didn't respond for a moment, repeating the word quietly to herself a few times. Then, "Oh, yes. Nauru means 'laughing'."

"Laughing?"

"Yes. What did the rest of it mean?"

"Well, it was in… let's see, seven languages, all from Northern Europe. The last one was in Old Norse, and if that doesn't scare you, here's what it said: 'The solitary opening of a lock… that… that lets the chained ship… up, _laughing_ through… the roar of time." He read it again to himself, silently, forcing himself to think about the words. _The solitary opening of a lock that lets the chained ship up, laughing through the roar of time. _He could feel his core shaking, not just from flu now but also from deep uneasiness.

"I don't get it," said Judy.

"Hold on a moment," he replied, and set the radio down. He rested his chin on his hands and stared at the words, Charlie following his gaze. He knew there was no way Charlie was ever going to begin to fathom what the words meant. That was because Charlie hadn't been alive one thousand years ago, and Bernard hadn't told either Charlie or Santa what had happened then. If he was right, and this message meant what he thought it did, and the voice was who he thought it was, then there would be massive amounts of storytelling going on in the near future, assuming they were still alive, which was a pretty wild assumption indeed. _This is insane,_ he thought, then put the radio back to his ear. "Well… good news is, it's just a metaphor. We're not about to get attacked by some giggling, time-traveling boat. Bad news is I think it means something much worse is coming."

**_oOo_**

**A/N:** I hope all that translating wasn't dangerously boring. I like languages so I got kind of enthusiastic. By the way, please don't assume that _any _of that is remotely correct.


	4. Power Struggle

**_oOo_**

Ch. 4 – Power Struggle

**_oOo_**

Bernard's mind was done thinking. It had suffered through enough holiday crap up to this point, and suffered through this accursed flu for hours. Decoding an elusive message in seven languages hadn't been that bad, but things built up. His head was hurting and he was tired. Now he had to explain not only a complicated past but the probable future, as much as he could foresee, to a human who stood on square one.

"Wait, what?" asked Scott, who had apparently snagged the radio from Judy. "Bernard, what's going on? Judy, do you know what he's talking about?"

The head elf screwed up his forehead and wondered how best to go about the next few moments. He didn't want to scare Santa off. Not that he thought that this Santa was a weak-hearted one; indeed, he was just about one of the best they'd ever had. But Bernard had no idea how courageous Scott was. He'd never been faced with a particularly perilous situation before. Closing his eyes, he put the radio to his face again.

"Judy, are you there?"

"Right here."

"Security's on high, right?"

"Right."

"Okay," he said, taking a breath. "I'm just gonna say this: I think Pete's back."

"You think…" she uttered, and then she took in a long breath. "But _how_?"

"Don't know how or when, I just have that feeling. I'd really, really like to be up there with you guys right now but I think I should wait until it's necessary." He waited for a reply, but none was forthcoming. He imagined Judy was probably speechless. He didn't blame her.

"That being said, I also think that if I'm not gonna go up there, Santa should be down here."

"But Bernard-"

"I know it's bad for Elfsburg, but if it is Pete, Santa's not safe when…" He trailed off, not wanting to complete the thought, even though he knew he'd have to within the next few moments.

"True," Judy replied, mercifully.

"And I need to tell him what's going on. If something happens before I get to explain everything, I need to be there. Rather he needs to be here."

"Woa, woa, woa, hold up a sec, guys," said Scott's voice on the other end. "I don't get any of this, what are you guys talking about? Please explain? Should I be panicking?"

"No," said Bernard. "No panicking. You need to get out of that cave in _exactly _four minutes. Be waiting by the North Pole. I'm going to come get you."

"Why by the North Pole? Can't you just-"

"Please, Santa. Just do it. I'll tell you everything once you're back here."

"O..kay. Alright. Four minutes." Santa's voice disappeared from the radio and Judy's returned.

"I'm going to go make sure everything's battened down. Keep in touch, alright?"

"I will." Bernard turned the radio off. Charlie was staring at him in a way that made him feel a bit like a gorilla in a zoo, like Charlie was waiting for him to do something fascinating and perhaps terrifying. Charlie could wait until Santa was here to hear it all too. Bernard's head felt like it was made of lead and he was having some troublingly serious problems with keeping himself from lying down on the couch. If he did that, he'd fall asleep, and then he'd be late for picking Santa up. About the last thing he wanted right now was Santa outside by himself.

Simply trying to convince himself not to lie down was making him more tired. He stood up, glancing at a clock. He didn't want to arrive early and freeze, but any waiting around on either of their parts might be dangerous for more reasons than the temperature. He paced the room, thinking that the ground seemed to be a bit more unstable now than usual. _Maybe teleporting isn't the best idea_, he thought, and then reminded himself that of course it wasn't the best idea. It was just the only thing he _could_ do now.

"Bernard?" The elf had almost forgotten that Charlie was in the room.

"What?"

"What's going on? Why are you pacing?"

"Oh. I'm going to get your dad in three minutes."

"He's coming back?"

Gratefully, Bernard's response was cut off by the telephone ringing. Bernard moved to the phone before Charlie could, knowing he was probably being overly paranoid, but not wanting to take any risks, especially because this phone didn't have any caller ID. He picked it up, put it to his ear, and listened, Charlie watching with much interest. A pause, and then,

"Um… hello?" asked a female voice.

"Oh. Hey, Mrs. Miller."

"Bernard? Why are you awake? You should be sleeping!"

"I take it you wanted to talk to Charlie."

"Well, I just wanted to know how everything was going." Bernard's mind froze for a moment, torn between telling her that everything was going to hell in a handbasket and telling her that everything was just fine and thanks for the soup. He decided that things could get rather more complicated than he could handle if he had to tell the wife of Santa that the man's life was in danger.

"Everything's fine. I'm feeling a little better," he lied.

"Oh good. Did Charlie make it over safe?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Well… call me if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Mrs. Miller." He hung up. The phone call had forced his mind to clear for a moment. It was so inanely normal; a worried woman calling to see if he felt alright and if her son had arrived safely. He decided it was about what he'd needed to stabilize himself for the teleport, at least mentally. Physically he felt a bit iffy about it but there was nothing else to do. It had been three and a half minutes. He waved to Charlie and tried to pull together the right amount of energy to jump to the zeroeth northern latitude, shut his eyes, and willed himself to dissipate.

Bernard dissipated, but the usual tingly rush that came with teleporting was cut rather unexpectedly short by an electric jolt. His particles seemed to hit a wall, and he fell a short distance before smashing into icy ground, flipping over, and staring into a starry sky. His heart banging at his ribs like it was trying to escape by force, blood _fwoosh_ing in his ears. His joints were very unhappy about the situation, and were begging him to lie still, making his limbs feel as if they were stuffed with sand. When he tried to sit up a wave of dizziness and weakness pushed him back.

"Holy solstice," he said aloud. _What just happened?_ This had never happened to him before; if a teleport was going to fail, it failed before the teleporter ever left the location, not in the middle of a move. His understanding of it was that the magic only worked if there was enough energy to do the whole jump. _Maybe because I'm sick_, he thought, although he had his doubts. Either way, any courage he'd gained by the little conversation with Mrs. Miller had now been replaced with a serious case of the nerves. What if he was stuck here now? Where _was_ 'here'? What would happen to Santa, not to mention Charlie and the rest of the elves and the North Pole and perhaps the entire human race?

"Svak hjerte feiging," he grumbled, chiding himself. "Remember your job. Concentrate…" He sat up slowly and shifted into a crouch, one hand steadying himself on the ground. _North Pole. North Pole. North-_

Something gripped him tight around the lungs and yanked hard. His head snapped off and dissolved, following the rest of his particulated self close behind. He reassembled inelegantly in another bank of snow, immediately recognizing the peaks of ice as his final destination. The relief he would have felt was canceled out by the lingering feelings of the last teleport; he was still tingly, as if his particles hadn't yet figured out how to fit together again.

"What happened?" asked a voice behind him. Bernard stood unsteadily and turned to see Santa waiting, hunched into his red jacket.

"What do you mean?" he wheezed, trying to catch his breath.

"Big red sparks, not the usual little bronze glittery things. How are you feeling?"

"I don't want to talk about it now," he grumbled, and tried to suppress the worry that came with the thought of having to teleport back down to New York, this time with Santa in tow. He couldn't believe these problems had entirely to do with his illness; that left Peter's influence. Which meant that teleporting right now was extremely dangerous if he didn't do something. He closed his eyes and turned inward, drawing humming energy from a well that ran through his bones and asking it outward to replace the pathway he was about to use to get back to New York.

"What are you doing?" asked Santa.

"Securing a lane. Here," he said, and held out his hand. Santa took it, looking a bit unsure, but before he could question the intelligence of letting himself be teleported by a sick elf, they disappeared. Bernard felt Santa's own energy buzzing in his hand as they scattered apart, and an instant later they reassembled in the Miller's living room. Charlie was waiting on the sofa, arms crossed nervously, and he stood when they appeared. Bernard stumbled to a chair and sat down, letting the lane they'd used collapse back into his bones; it hit him hard, as if it were fleeing from something. Santa and Charlie were staring at him expectantly.

"Alright, you guys," he said. "Sit down. I don't really know how to tell you this, so I'm just gonna say stuff and it's probably not going to make any sense." They were giving him blank looks, so he plunged on. "There's this guy named Zwarte Piet but we call him Pete. He's got a superiority complex with humans, and a thousand years ago he convinced the Santa and Mrs. Clause that the human spirit didn't need to be rekindled, it needed to be snuffed."

"Snuffed?" said Santa with indignation. "Where did he get _that _from?"

"This is just the short version. Long version later. Anyways, we rebelled and overthrew them; Pete disappeared. We thought he was gone. I think that was his voice you heard in your head, Santa. The way you described it matches what he'd sound like. The message is a big metaphor; apparently he's found someone or something that will allow him to get what he wants, or at least he thinks it will." Bernard paused, unsure of what to say now. Everything he'd just told Charlie and Santa should have taken hours and hours to explain properly, and now the two humans were staring at him gape-jawed.

"Woa," managed Santa. "He… are you sure? That message was… I mean it was pretty abstract, it could mean anything…"

"I don't know exactly what he plans on doing, but it won't be good."

"How well do you know this guy?"

"For better or worse, pretty well."

"So… so what's going to happen?"

"Hah. Who knows? He might try to convince you or Carol that magic shouldn't be wasted on mortals. Or he might just try to kill you and then try to stop what we do at the North Pole."

"Kill me?" Santa asked faintly.

"Yeah. If you don't do what he wants, which you will not. If you stick by me I can keep that from happening, but he's going to be going after me too."

"So either way there's going to be a Pete and Bernard smackdown sometime in the near future?" asked Charlie, who was acting surprisingly lucid.

"A smackdown. Yes, that sounds appropriate," replied Bernard. Neither one of them seemed able to gather themselves for the barrage of questions he had been expecting, and the sense of release he'd been hoping for upon spilling all the beans failed to make an appearance. It was a disappointing feeling and he didn't know where to go from here; there was no sudden surge of determined energy, no sense of hope emanating from Santa, no epiphanies or solutions stepped forward to ease the situation. Yet the two humans looked to him for answers. Where else _could_ they look?

"We're going to be fine, though," he said. "We've beaten this guy before, we can do it again." He offered them a smile while his mental state crumbled from the guilt of another lie and the lack of energy caused by flu and Peter's influence. It was a façade he knew he wouldn't be able to keep up, like trying to convincingly tell someone they were going to be fine while a zombie munched on their head and the Earth opened beneath their feet.

"I'll be right back," he said, and calmly headed for the bathroom. He had the impression that he'd somehow managed to give the two a false sense of hope, and he could hear them talking quietly as he shut himself into the bathroom. False hope was better than no hope, he told himself. His hands were trembling and he hated how the sight seemed to push him towards an ever-closer panic attack. His eyes were stinging as he fought for composure, the pressure of responsibility warping the moment into a battle for control.

The word 'necessity' sprang to his mind like a little knight in shining armor, and he grabbed a hold of it. _I can't loose control. I can't,_ he told himself. He simply couldn't, or…

He couldn't. There wasn't really a choice.

A strange emptiness came with the calm that the word gave him. It saddened him at first, but the feeling didn't linger. The current goal, he knew, was functionality, not perspective. He reminded himself that he was an elf, not a human, and the thought was enough to knock him back to his feet. At least for now.


	5. Big Cheesy Apocalypse

**_oOo_**

Ch. 5 – Big Cheesy Apocalypse

**_oOo_**

Bernard returned to the room where Santa and Charlie waited, semi-braced for the barrage of questions that he was sure was about to hit him. He could see it on their faces; they'd had time to prepare a list.

"What about Carol? Is she safe?" was Santa's first question.

"She doesn't matter to him unless he thinks she can convince you to run things differently. He'll be going after you first."

"So… what are we going to do about this?" Ah, the ultimate question. The elf was glad Scott had gotten to the heart of the matter so quickly.

"I have no idea." He took a seat next to his bewildered boss.

"But… I mean how did you defeat him last time? What _happened _last time? I can't believe I'm asking you how you _defeated _someone, this is like some bogus epic adventure thing."

"Yeah. Unfortunately. Last time…" he sighed, leaning back in the chair. "We got our hands on some gleipnir and Father Time bound him to history."

"Um, what? English?"

"Gleipnir is a kind of string. Made of… magic, I guess. Thin as a silk thread, stronger than an iron chain, or that's what's said, anyways. Made by the black dwarves in old Norway. That's where we lived back then, in Norway. And Father Time tied Pete to what he'd done, hoping it would make him repent. But the second Father Time secured the last knot, Pete disappeared, which was to be expected, I suppose. The theory was that if he let go of his wickedness the knots would come undone, and I don't really get how that was supposed to work." The looks on the faces of Santa and Charlie told Bernard that they were somewhat grasping what he was saying, so he continued. "It was hard enough to acquire gleipnir; the last of it was supposed to have been used on the Fenrisulfr's bindings, so we had to convince the dwarves to make us more."

"Wait, Fenrisulfr?" The small amount of understanding that had been on Santa's face had slipped away with the name.

"Yes, the wolf Fenris. Really isn't relevant here, I hope."

"Oh. Good. Continue. How did you convince the dwarves to make… that stuff?"

"Gleipnir. We gave them our magic."

"You _what?_"

"Yeah, it wasn't fun. Black dwarves have a fascination with white magic, kind of like man's fascination with the unknown. They wouldn't make any more gleipnir until we let them have a bunch of our magic."

"How can you _give_ somebody magic?"

"It's… hard to explain. Again, doesn't really matter. What matters is we got the gleipnir and tied Pete up. And he was gone, just like that. Then we replaced the Claus's with someone more position-appropriate ." Bernard paused to stare thoughtfully at his knees while his head pounded with each heartbeat. In that singular moment he felt older than he'd ever felt before and he almost slipped into another hopeless type of mood, but he told himself that he _was _older than he'd ever been, obviously, and therefore the feeling was ok. Having dispelled with any bothersome philosophical thoughts, he raised his head back up.

"So," said Charlie, "he's escaped the… gleipnir? Is that what's happened?"

"I think so," Bernard said, nodding. "He said,'the solitary opening of a lock'. That must mean something released him somehow."

"And now he's… coming back up, through the roar of time. He's coming back to _now_."

"Exactly, Charlie. Now, it's a possibility that he's finally felt remorse over what he did, and the gleipnir released him. But knowing him, I doubt it. And if he'd actually been legitimately set free, I don't think he'd be approaching us like this. He'd want to come say sorry, not come scare the carbuncles out of everybody." Santa stuck his finger in the air, as if requesting a taxi.

"So can't we just tie him up again, except with a lot more knots? And _no_ merciful rules of repent?"

Bernard stared at his boss, and felt his eyes glaze over. Presently he closed them and laid his head in his hands, to dissuade the impression that he was fighting an epic inner battle against discouragement, which he was. He loved humans; he really did. That's why he was head elf. It was his duty to encourage and protect them. But there were moments when human ignorance and shortsightedness tried to block him.

"Bernard, you ok?" asked Santa. The elf straightened up.

"Yeah. Man, this is the worst timing ever, I can't think."

"I asked if we could just tie him up again."

"Santa… Forever is a long time. Just keep that in mind. And we could only do that if we determined the cause of his release and made sure it didn't happen again. One of the holes in that plan is that I'm not sure where black dwarves are."

"Well if you met them a thousand years ago-"

"Yes, but something happened to them after we gave them our magic. Stories came back that their underground realm disappeared in a big cheesy flash of light after we left with the gleipnir. So we don't even know if the black dwarves still exist now."

"So… we have to find out if they're still alive, and if so, where?" Santa's straightforward thinking was aggravatingly logical. He didn't understand a fraction of all the details and complications of the situation, and yet he was stating the most obvious path that they'd have to take. In the back of his mind Bernard suspected they'd have to find the black dwarves as well, but all that that inferred was almost too painful to think about.

"Yeah, I guess we do."

"You sound a little bummed about that."

"Well… you would too if you'd ever met a black dwarf."

"Why? What are they like?"

"If it comes down to you having to meet one, I'll warn you. In the meantime, Peter'll be searching for us. If he finds you, he'll try to convince you to work with him. If you don't agree, he'll kill you. Hopefully it'll never come down to that, because you're going to stick by my side until this is over."

"Why?"

"I can protect you."

"_You_ can protect _me_? I thought _I_ was the official member of the Council of Magical Entities."

"Yeah, you're the face of our whole production, but you're just the messenger. You're a link between our world and the human world. When it comes to pure magic I'm afraid I outrank you. So does Pete. Unfortunately Pete will probably be looking for me too, for that very reason; he wants me out of the way."

"Can he get you out of the way?"

"It all depends on circumstance. A thousand years ago he could, because he had Santa on his side. This time he might have something else, something to do with how he untied himself in the first place. Kull, you two, this is all just speculation. None of this is for sure and there's no way of finding out more until he makes another move. We may end up needing to find the black dwarves but we don't want to do that until we're sure we need gleipnir."

"Can we make our own gleipnir?" asked Charlie. The question caught Bernard off-guard and he thought for a moment.

"_Make_ gleipnir. Charlie, I can honestly say I have no idea if _we_ can do that. Dwarves are master craftspeople, they're pretty much qualified to make anything out of anything. I can't say the same for myself. Gleipnir is made of a bunch of things that don't exist anymore because of its creation, so it's not like it's a low-impact endeavor."

"Wait, what do you mean by-" Santa started to ask.

"The sound of a cat's footfall," answered Bernard. "The breath of a fish. Things that don't exist."

"Oh, wow," said Scott, and stood up, pressing his palms against his ears as if he didn't want to hear any more. Bernard had been waiting for this. "Alright, I was trying to just follow along calmly up to this point, but this, this just tops it all off, doesn't it?" Santa's voice now bordered on maniacal. Bernard held back from saying that Santa didn't know nearly the half of it yet. _Let the man have his panic attack in peace,_ he thought. "A string made of things that don't exist. Someone gets tied to a moment. Different kinds of magic, demon wolves, black dwarves, big cheesy explosions of light, why the dickens didn't I know about any of this? Bernard, I'm sorry, I know you're trying to patiently explain everything but this is just… it's just…"

"Santa, you're doing fine. Just-"

"Aaah, ah ah. Don't tell me I'm doing fine, you can see I'm most certainly _not _doing fine. I feel like you just threw a million pieces of confetti at me and told me to catch them all in rainbow order before they hit the ground. With my knee. You know how impossible that is?" Bernard didn't answer, not knowing what to say. At this point, there was nothing he could do for Santa until the man calmed down by himself. Thankfully, Charlie stepped in.

"Dad, none of this is going to get any clearer if we don't let Bernard explain it." _None of it's going to get clearer if I DO explain it_, Bernard thought, but nodded encouragingly at Santa, who seemed to be considering. After a moment he sat back down, shaking his head.

"Sorry. Sorry, I just-"

"I know, it's complicated." The elf wanted to tack on some corny bit of positivity at the end, but could come up with nothing. What Santa needed at the moment was a sense of hope, that exceptionally human necessity. A first step would be good. Some way to get them rolling down a path, anything but sitting stagnant and waiting for Peter to come knocking with tidings of the apocalypse of man. Bernard would almost be ok with simply waiting for Peter, if it meant that he'd be able to get in some sleep.

"Alright," said Bernard, forcing energy into his words. "Father Time knows more about Peter's bonds than we do. We need his input."

"Great. Good plan," said Santa, rubbing his hands together. "How do we find him? Where does he live?"

"Father Time assumes a material form only when someone wants to see him. Otherwise he's ubiquitous."

"Creepy," said Charlie, as Bernard mentally called out to Father Time. The plane of magic sent his thoughts back to him, echoing hollowly, and his heart started to fall, wishing against everything that he wasn't about to run into yet _another _complication. Why was it so empty out there? Where was Father Time? After a moment of darkness he started to sense the formation of something more tangible than the surrounding vacuum, and relief hit him. A split second later his ears perceived an irritated whine, like a distant mosquito, and he had only a moment to wonder about its origins before it exploded into a deafening, punctuated shriek – harsh laughter, ending with a deep breath and a single word forced through what must have been a numb throat –

"_**HEY! **_"

**_oOo_**

**A/N:** I realize this chapter was pretty much them sitting around having explanative dialogue. Not too riveting… eh. Looks like you made it to the bottom anyways. You deserve a string of LED Christmas Lights! *~~~*~~~*~~~*


	6. Finding Time

**A/N: **Happy… early-October? It's _almost _time to pull out the artificial Christmas tree, isn't it? Ish?

**_oOo_**

Ch.6 – Finding Time

**_oOo_**

The shout blasted into his head and shattered his thoughts. Bernard felt the danger, and instinct demanded that he try to pull out of the plane of magic, back to the living room, but he couldn't. Something was relentlessly tugging him into the strange, empty void, compressing his lungs. If he gave in he'd be able to breathe… but Pete waited on the other side, he knew. This was the same feeling he'd gotten from the teleport pull that had brought him to Santa's house without a purpose. Far away now, the echoes of Pete's voice tumbled from an indistinct direction, singing bits of carols that Bernard hadn't heard in centuries.

Frustration and annoyance gave him a surge of will power that allowed him to yank himself out of the plane, or else Pete chose to release him. He heard Santa ask what had happened as the living room appeared dimly before his eyes, and the floor beneath him was reminiscent of a Tilt-A-Whirl from hell, spinning and bucking off its hinges.

"Are you okay?" he heard Charlie ask, through the wooshing of blood pounding in his ears. Each pulse sent a crack of pain fizzling through his head. Santa reached out to steady him, which was about when Bernard realized he was tipping over a bit. Vertigo got the better of him and he sunk to the carpet as carefully as he could, then leaned back against the couch, eyes closed.

"Pete…" he said, but stopped, not sure what to say. Pete was lurking in the magic plane, waiting for me? Pete was singing Christmas carols whilst attempting to drag me into oblivion? Father Time is nowhere to be seen, perhaps because Pete has cut off my link to the greater fabric of Time, rendering us isolated and almost surely screwed?

"Pete is closer than I thought," he finished with a sigh.

"What happened?" asked Santa, who had knelt down by the elf, concern plastered across his face. Charlie was looking around suspiciously, probably thinking Pete was about to come waltzing up the basement stairs. A distinct possibility, but Bernard wasn't about to let on.

"I don't know what happened. I tried to find Father Time but the only thing out there was Pete. And he sounds even more insane than the last time I talked to him. He's been screwing around with my teleports, too, I think he's why I came here this morning when nothing was wrong. Still don't know why he'd want to do that, though."

"Where was he, though? What do you mean, he was 'there'?"

"I don't know how to explain it. His presence was there. He has a definite material form so he shouldn't be able to do that. Or he _had _a definite material form. Who knows now."

"Are you okay?" his boss asked again.

"I've got the flu," Bernard replied in exasperation. _And my head's going to explode,_ he didn't add. Darkness jumped at the edge of his vision with each heartbeat.

"So… what do we do?"

The elf wanted to throw up his hands and yell 'I don't know!' but that was hardly appropriate. What he really wanted to do was share the burden of responsibility with someone – that meant Father Time. How else could he get a hold of the entity? There was no way he was going to try calling out again.

"Charlie, hand me the radio." The teen reached it over and Bernard pressed the call button, wondering if he should collect his thoughts before letting Judy know what was going on. Of course, it was too late for any real coherency when Judy answered.

"Bernard?"

"Hey Judy. Bad news."

**_oOo_**

Santa tried to sit still while Bernard talked to Judy, but his legs refused to obey. He got up and paced, worry boiling away in his gut. The situation kept getting worse, and he had too many things to worry about, not the least being Pete wanted him dead. What about his son? What about his wife? What about all the elves at the Pole, and what about Christmas itself? Christmas was supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year, wasn't it? What was happening was so sudden he felt as if he'd stepped into another plane of existence altogether, one where none of the rules of reality, stretched thin as they already were, applied.

_Maybe I'm having a nightmare_, he thought, suddenly hoping. He used to have Christmas nightmares all the time when he was a kid – Santa didn't come, he only got coal, bad gifts, the tree starting on fire – so why couldn't he be having one _now?_ But as he thought about it, he realized with a crawling certainty that this was no dream. He'd had the same realization when he and Laura had divorced, and when Charlie had been taken away from him for those few tortuous weeks, nine years ago.

No nightmare, then. And he was unable to help. Absolutely in the dark, and here he was, Santa Clause. He would have guessed _he'd _be the one who was in control of the situation, being the Big Guy himself. He needed to know what was going on, desperately needed the details, more facts, more information, but Bernard wasn't telling him anything. It was his _right _to know, wasn't it? It was his duty to defend the Christmas spirit, wasn't it, so shouldn't he have known all these things beforehand? Bernard should have told him everything years before. They should have sat down together after that first Christmas and Bernard should have made a point to tell him all these important details, about dark times and dark dwarves, white magic and gleipnir, first thing. Scott stopped his pacing for a moment to throw a semi-involuntary glower at his head elf, who was still on the radio with Judy.

Bernard was still pressed against the foot of the sofa. The hand that wasn't holding the radio was holding up his downcast face, and his voice was wreathed in weariness. The elf's eyes were shrouded with a foggy gloom that immediately dispelled most of Scott's blame. Clearly Bernard was having as hard of a time with the situation as he himself was, if for different reasons. How many times had the head elf told Scott to visit the hall of records? And Scott had failed on all accounts. Now that the situation had come up, he felt like a fool for not knowing everything that had happened in the past.

Seeing Bernard crumple after attempting to reach Father Time hadn't been encouraging, either. Bernard had never _not _seemed in control – he'd always been the sharp voice of reason, and he always seemed to know everything. Clearly, at the present moment he didn't know what to do. A bit worrisome. A tad. A smidgeon.

Bernard put the radio down and sighed, rubbing his temples. Scott took this as a cue to push his mind onto a more relevant topic.

"What did Judy say?" he asked.

"She's trying to summon Father Time, and hopefully he'll either be able to tell her something useful and she'll tell us, or he'll be able to come here himself. I'll trust him to make the wisest choice." Bernard closed his eyes. "I don't know what to do in the meantime. She should be calling any second."

Scott took this as a cue to sit down and twiddle his thumbs, something he'd never quite had enough coordination to do. Charlie, a growing teen and therefore perpetually hungry, left to heat up some soup. Scott couldn't imagine eating anything at the moment. Watching his son leave the room even made him nervous, and he almost followed Charlie into the kitchen, but held back. After all, how could Pete know he had a son? He told himself he was being paranoid. His unease didn't leave.

"Jern og magi," Bernard mumbled, and lay down at the base of the sofa, muttering to himself in Norwegian for a few seconds before falling silent. Santa stared at him; the elf was shaking with spells of chills. He was tempted to take the blanket from the sofa and drape it over his body, but the fact that Bernard was his old-as-dirt advisor, not some helpless kid, stayed his hand. They should be keeping up a _somewhat _formal relationship, shouldn't they?

"Grab a blanket if you're cold, dummy," he advised. Bernard didn't respond, and after peering closer, Scott figured he was sleeping. He gave in and laid the blanket over Bernard. He couldn't help it; his parental instincts were on overload. Even though Charlie was in the next room, clunking around with some pots, Scott idly wished Charlie had a cell phone. Just in case they got separated. At least he'd be able to call to make sure his son was okay. Which was, he reflected, quite possibly one of the reasons that Charlie hadn't wanted one in the first place.

Bernard started, and half sat up. "She call?"

"Nope."

"Kull, I fell asleep."

"Go back to sleep. I'll kick you if anything happens."

"No, I should be awake. Don't want you kicking me." Nonetheless, he lay back down. One of those 'I'm going to lay down now but I'm really not going to sleep' aspirations, inherently doomed to failure. He was sleeping again within the next ten seconds.

This was the radio's cue to buzz. Typical. Santa snatched it up and answered the call, his foot wondering if it should keep its promise and kick the elf awake.

"Judy?" he asked.

"_Hello there_," answered a cheerful voice. Not Judy. Immediately, he recognized it as the voice that had spoken in his head. He kicked Bernard, who sat up a lot quicker than Santa had been expecting. "_So, how are preparations going? Everything all in a row for the big day?_" said the voice. It had a strange, echoing quality about it, and a twinge of an accent. Santa gestured wildly at the radio, mouthing 'Pete' to Bernard, who seemed unfazed as he reached for the radio. Santa handed it to him, and leaned forward, listening. Charlie walked into the room with a bowl and froze.

"Pete," Bernard said, interrupting Pete, who had been rambling. "What are you doing?" The question was so saturated with weariness that the voice didn't reply immediately; at least, Santa wanted to think that Pete had picked up on the seriousness of Bernard's question.

_"What am I doing?" _asked the tiny voice on the other end of the radio. _"Well, I suppose I'm creating somewhat of an interference with your radio." _ Bernard didn't answer. _"And," _ Pete continued after a moment, _"I'm coming back. But you knew that. Because you're Bernard! You know _everything_." _By now Charlie had knelt down next to them and was attempting to listen as well.

"How did you get out?"

_"Would I really tell you my secret?"_

"Thought I'd ask."

_"You don't sound so good. How are you faring in your old age?"_

"Better than the last time you saw me," said Bernard, bitterness edging his voice. "If you tell me what you want, maybe we can work something out with minimum disaster. I'm just gonna remind you that picking a fight with the orders of existence probably isn't the wisest."

_"You know what else wasn't the wisest?" _Pete waited for a response that wouldn't come. _"Locking me to what I did wasn't the wisest. Do you have any idea how long a thousand years feels? I mean, _really_ feels? Stuck in one spot, facing eternity? I was almost ready to feel sorry for what I did, I'll have you know—zwart, I _DID_ feel sorry about it. Anything to have gotten out of that. But did the bonds break? No! You and that old man Father Time are liars! And now I've gone completely _insane_, I fathom, and I'm a little peeved at you. You know? A little angrier than before? Wasn't the wisest move on your part. Feeding the flame and all. But! I blather. Can't wait to see you when I get here, it's been too long. I miss your gloomy face. Need to meet this new Santa, too, I suppose. And his son, shan't forget him." _Scott tensed, but Bernard held up his palm to still him.

"Wait, you're not here yet?"

_"My body's lagging behind a bit. I like to think of it as being fashionably late. Zwart, _everything_ I do is fashionable."_

"You really have cracked, haven't you?"

_"Yes, my dear Bernard, and mine's not going to be the only cracked head. Not for long." _Before Bernard could say anything else, Pete's voice was replaced by a burst of static. His tone had switched into 'sinister' mode there at the end, and Scott's heart took a plunge into his stomach. The call signal shrieked to life, causing all three of them to jump.

"_Hello?"_ said the voice.

"Judy!" Bernard answered. "Did you hear all that?"

_"Yes, Pete must have interrupted my signal. I was going to tell you something, but…"_ But now, Scott knew, they shouldn't use the radios to say anything important, as Pete could potentially hear anything they said. Which he didn't understand at all, but that was nothing new.

"Yeah…" said Bernard, somehow conveying with the single word that they knew why she wasn't telling them anything. Scott watched the gears in the elf's head turning. It was a mightily awkward situation. Their next step depended upon if Judy had gotten into contact with Father Time. Suddenly, Bernard's forehead stitched up in thought. He lifted the radio to his mouth.

"Um… Sizi… nasıl konuşmalısınız?" Scott sighed, wishing he was fluent in more languages. He was getting better as the years went on, but he had no idea what this new one was. Bernard's speech was halting and hesitant, but the elf looked hopeful.

"_Evet! Evet… iyi bir fikir. Ah, bence_," came Judy's reply, and Scott could see the relief on Bernard's face. Presumably they'd found a language they didn't think Pete knew.

"Öğrendiniz?" Bernard asked, and they proceeded to have a short, choppy conversation, effectively leaving Charlie, Scott, and (he hoped) Pete in the dark. After a few moments Bernard put the radio down and turned to the expectant stares of the two humans.

"Judy said – "

There was a soft sound from behind them all, like the _foof_ of a stove igniting or a heavy flag billowing in a gust. Scott was sure it was also the sound of Pete appearing in their living room, but upon turning around he was greeted with the exceptionally welcome site of Father Time.

"… that she found him," Bernard finished.

"Father Time," Scott said, standing. "What a welcome site. Thanks for making an appearance." Scott bit back a bad pun about time never being around when he needed it the most, because the expression on Father Time's visage froze his thoughts. The old man's usual gentle, bemused smile had been cast away in the wake of stormy eyes and a mouth that finally gave Scott an idea of what it meant to have a 'long face'. He bit his tongue even harder as _why the long face?_ tried to come popping out of his mouth. Father Time nodded gravely to him, and then to Charlie. Bernard had pushed himself to his feet – Scott could almost hear the elf's joints protesting – and now stared at Father Time in a helpless sort of way, while the elder figure in turn cast his questing gaze at the elf. After a moment Bernard lowered his eyes.

"Sit," Father Time said, and Bernard sat down on the couch. "How long," asked the old man, coming forward a few steps, "have you been ill?"

"Few hours. A day. Hard to tell."

"How are you doing?" The question was one Scott had heard many times in the past few hours, had heard many times over the course of his life. It was a courtesy question, like, 'how was your day?', or 'how did you sleep?', usually asked in a tone that was polite yet distant, because the asker already knew what the answer would be. 'Ok'. 'Pretty good'. 'Not so well'. 'Eh'. All answers that would evoke a nod from the asker, and the conversation would move on. As Father Time asked his question, though, his eyes hardened with an intensity that could have knocked down anyone with less of a spine. Scott could tell that within the question there was a whole current of meaning.

Bernard didn't answer right away, but to his credit, he didn't shy from Father Time's gaze. Finally, he replied hopefully,

"I was worse last time."

"Only near the end," Father Time murmured, and then seemed to notice that Scott and Charlie had been left in the dust of their mysterious conversation.

"We have a lot to discuss," he said, "and not much time. Tell me everything you know."

"Who are you addressing?" asked Scott. Father Time valiantly tried to hide an eye roll, and turned to the elf.

"Tell me everything you know," he asked again, pointedly.

"Pete pulled me to Santa's house," Bernard started reciting. "I got sick. Santa went back to the workshop and started hearing a voice in his head. We translated what the voice was saying, which was a very Pete-like message warning of his return. I gave Charlie and Santa the bare bones, tried calling out to you, found Pete instead – he's messing around with my connection to the fabric of magic. So I called Judy. I'm sure she told you that her call to us when she did find you was intercepted by Pete. He's angry, he's insane, he claims he repented but the bonds didn't break, his body is lagging behind a bit, and he wants to crack our heads open."

**_oOo_**


End file.
